


What is Love?

by vix_spes



Series: The Bardcore Verse [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bardic competition, Established Relationship, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24713821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: Geralt had had plans for his reunion with Jaskier. Plans that had involved the two of them and a bed. They had not involved sitting in a tavern with his brothers watching a university bardic competition.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Bardcore Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2173050
Comments: 39
Kudos: 301





	What is Love?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cydonianlady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cydonianlady/gifts).



> Cydonianlady sent me this video by Hildegard von Blingen and this fic was born. I recommend watching the video first [What Is Love?](https://youtu.be/Kbj4bulZX2Y)

Geralt couldn't help but grumble as he made his way through the streets of Oxenfurt. A tavern was the very last place that he wanted to be spending his first evening back with Jaskier, especially when it had such a ridiculous name. The Jolly Chimera? Who the fuck thought that was a good idea? Whoever named this place was either drunk or high on something when they named it. Everyone knew that chimeras weren't jolly. At his side, Eskel and Lambert were arguing about names that would be more appropriate although, in all probability, might not bring in as many clients. Geralt tuned them out with decades of practise. The sooner they got to the tavern, the sooner he got to see Jaskier and then everything would be improved.

It had been a long winter in Kaer Morhen without Jaskier and it was not an experience that Geralt was keen to repeat any time soon. He had missed Jaskier more than he had thought feasibly possible and, with Ciri spending the winter with Yennefer as per their arrangement, not even Eskel and Lambert had been enough to distract him. No, Geralt was making it compulsory that Jaskier spend every winter in Kaer Morhen. None of this ‘taking a teaching position and wintering in Oxenfurt’ nonsense. Especially when Geralt knows that Jaskier only took the position because Valdo Marx had been offered one as well.

Valdo fucking Marx.

Geralt had never met the guy, never heard anything about him except for Jaskier deriding his abilities and bitching about how he hated him. He was pretty sure all the remaining Witchers of the Wolf School hated him if only because he was the reason that Jaskier hadn’t turned up this winter. Marx was the reason that they’d had to put up with Geralt alternately sulking around the keep or being a giant mountain of anger when they were training. They had all become spoilt after four years of Jaskier joining them, ever since Geralt had hunted him down and apologised for what he’d said on the mountain. Geralt had the feeling the only reason his brothers were here, given that they normally hunted different parts of the continent, was to extract a promise from Jaskier that this was never going to happen again.

Especially considering how Geralt had a plan.

One that didn’t involve his brothers. One that involved himself and Jaskier naked for a significant amount of time. A bed was optional.

He had planned on stabling Roach and heading straight for Jaskier’s accommodation for their reunion. A reunion that - he’d hoped - wouldn’t have had his brothers anywhere in the vicinity, although he was grateful that Eskel and Lambert had taken to Jaskier as much as they had. But, as was often the way for Geralt, nothing had gone to plan. Instead of being reunited with his bard, not only were his brothers hot on his heels, he had been informed - after banging on Jaskier’s door enough to break it - that there was a final competition scheduled between Professor Pankratz’ class and Professor Marx’s in one of the local taverns. Whoever’s class won, was - unofficially - the best bard on the continent. The words had barely left the students’ lips before Geralt was growling in annoyance, dumping most of his gear in Jaskier’s rooms before heading towards the tavern, Eskel and Lambert following close behind as he stormed through the streets of Oxenfurt.

The Jolly Chimera was packed when they got there. Not just with the usual regulars but with two classes of university students. Geralt was used to Jaskier’s outlandish dress sense, but Marx - and his class - made Jaskier look as restrained as a Witcher. There were two distinct groups. One obviously belonged to Marx, while the other could only be Jaskier’s. No-one else could inspire such a veritable riot of colour that it was an assault on the eyes. Whilst the tavern was busy, the majority of the crowds were towards the front of the tavern, which meant that the three Witchers were able to grab a table cloaked in shadows.

Marx’s class won the coin toss and decided to perform first. They were pretty good, even to Geralt’s untrained ear and Lambert’s complete and utter tone-deafness. Eskel commented that the lyrics were adequate but that was as complimentary as he could manage. They were certainly well-drilled and rehearsed, yet they only received a lukewarm response from the audience. All three Witchers had smirked at that.

And then it was the turn of Jaskier’s class.

Unlike Marx, who had decided not to perform and to leave it all to his students - probably hoping to bask in the adulation, Jaskier started the song, plucking some notes on his lute. Filavandrel’s lute. Already, it started to sound a hundred times better than anything of Marx’s. The audience clearly thought so because there was a smattering of applause and Jaskier’s lips curved in a smug smile, clearly in his element. 

But then Jaskier started to sing and, as wonderful as his voice sounded, Geralt wanted to kill him. Because this song was definitely aimed at him. At the him from four years ago, at the him that had wanted to drive Jaskier away rather than have him walk away. Geralt resented being the subject of one of Jaskier’s classes, but he couldn't deny that the results were some of Jaskier's best work to date.

That made the whole thing even more frustrating.

_What is love? Witcher thou woundest, thou woundest, mine heart  
What is love? Witcher thou woundest, thou woundest, mine heart_

Geralt was never getting this song out of his head. His brothers were never going to let him forget this. He needed considerably more alcohol to deal with this.

It was infuriating.

There was definite choking from where Lambert was sat, but Geralt decided to take the higher ground, to ignore it. Except, it was hard to ignore when the entirety of Jaskier’s class decided to join in with the performance. 

And not just join in. One of Jaskier’s students started a melodic pattern on a lute that was so much bigger than Jaskier’s, Geralt had to wonder if it was still a lute. He wasn’t the only one playing. There were numerous other lute players, some of them tapping the wood body of their lutes to create a beat whilst others played simple chords.

_Oh I know not whither thou art,  
or wherefore thou tearest us apart  
If ever thou beest mine, giv’st me a sign_

Around the room, Jaskier’s students burst out in harmony and Geralt was torn between horror at what they were singing and pride at how good they sounded. The words may be an abomination, but the melody was catchy and Jaskier had drilled his students well. Just as Geralt drilled Ciri, as Vesemir had drilled him before. Not one of them missed a beat and the harmonies - to Geralt’s untrained ear - were perfect.

_What is love? Witcher thou woundest, thou woundest, mine heart  
_ _What is love? Witcher thou woundest, thou woundest, mine heart_

When the ‘nonny nonny’s’ started, Lambert nearly fell off the bench in hysterical laughter. It was only Eskel’s firm grip on the back of his shirt that kept him even vaguely upright. To anyone else, Eskel would appear unmoved by the act, but Geralt could see his lips twitching in amusement.

And then Jaskier was looking in Geralt’s direction, that blue gaze falling on him unerringly, and all thoughts of Geralt’s brothers disappeared from his mind. The fact that it had taken him this long to realise that Geralt was here spoke of how focused he was on this competition. For a human, Jaskier had an unerring ability to sense when Geralt was in close proximity to him no matter where they were. Now, he sent a particularly self-satisfied smile in Geralt’s direction, letting it widen as Geralt arched an eyebrow in response.

He then proceeded to give a lascivious grin followed by a, quite frankly, outrageous move with his hips that had Geralt ready to sling his bard over his shoulder and carry him to the back of the tavern to repeat the move; preferably on Geralt’s cock. But then Jaskier started to sing again and any sexual desire disappeared in an instant.

_I know not what can granted be,  
For doth not my freedom rest with thee?  
_ _What shall remain if we are twain?  
_ _Alack, I beseech_

_What is love? Witcher thou woundest, thou woundest, mine heart  
What is love? Witcher thou woundest, thou woundest, mine heart_

_Nonny nonny no  
_ _Nonny nonny no_

And then it got worse. So much worse. Because of course, Jaskier was involved. Geralt might love him, but he didn’t understand him. There was no explanation for this.There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world for this. 

Not when _this_ was the fact that Jaskier had apparently choreographed a fucking dance routine for his students. There were synchronised hand movements and high kicks and it was so ridiculously over the top. Lambert was laughing so hard that he was actually wheezing for breath while even Eskel was chuckling. The audience were lapping it up; cheering, clapping along and calling out for more and Geralt allowed himself a small smile, the barest quirk of his lips.

Jaskier had won this. There was no doubt about it.

Sure enough, five minutes later, Jaskier and his class were announced the winners and a distinctly unimpressed Valdo Marx offered his insincere congratulations before storming out of the tavern. Geralt watched as Jaskier congratulated each member of his class individually before he headed for the Witcher’s corner, being waylaid a couple of times by tavern patrons. When he reached them, Jaskier greeted Lambert and Eskel before he flung himself into Geralt’s lap, taking a long draught of his ale.

“Geralt! I’m the best bard on the continent!”

“I hate you.” Even as the words left Geralt’s lips, he grasped at Jaskier’s hips, keeping him close.

“You say that, but I know you love me.”

Geralt ignored the way that Eskel hummed the tune and Lambert sang along ‘What is love? Witcher don’t hurt me…’ as he nosed along Jaskier’s cheek, taking deep breaths of that oh-so-familiar smell that meant home and love and friendship and so many other things, before he claimed Jaskier’s lips with his own after far too long.

“Lies, all lies.”


End file.
